


1986

by moz17



Category: Deutschland 83
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6099007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moz17/pseuds/moz17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years have passed and Alex is attempting to put his life together when Moritz/Martin finds him, and their ensuing relationship brings up many issues and memories both would rather not confront.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alex couldn't dance but that didn't stop him. He was perfectly aware he was not able to dance and it hardly even bothered him. It wasn't as if those around him in the night club were judging him based on his dance moves; they assessed him purely from a physical standpoint: face, height, arse, a certain build, a certain expression in his eyes letting them know they could take him home or to the bathroom and he would do as they wished. The nights when he wasn't looking to pick up were the evenings when he let himself dance with abandon. He was all limbs flailing, eyes closed, oblivious to all around him, seeking only to sink further down into the darkness of the club and the music, the repetitive heavy rhythms almost tranquilising him. Such violent physical exertions did give his mind a brief respite from its incessant bawling and for a few moments at the end of the night, as he walked home though empty streets, the dawn beginning to break over the town, he would experience a blissful numbness. Sex granted him the same gift of silence in his own head. As he lay beside his chosen partner for the evening, or as he braced himself against the wall in a cramped cubicle, sweat cooling on his brow and cum drying on him somewhere, his breath gradually becoming deeper and more even, he would have a simple feeling of peace, no necessity to do anything further except breathe.

Then the moment would be over, and his balance would shift precariously once more. He didn't _want_ to be like this. Yes, he had a lot of nervous energy which was particularly useful for working in his bookshop, attending political meetings and debating, and for managing to continue on all night at clubs and house parties, and to keep going again the next day, surviving on little sleep- he had, however, acquired enough self-awareness over the past three years to realise that his tendency to fly off the handle and commit himself to impulsive actions could be so damaging. He yearned to be more in control of himself, to be able to harness this energy and restlessness within him instead of being subject to its whims, instead of having to tire himself out like some small child just to ensure he didn't do something like his father. Ever since he had found his father, dead by his own hand, Alex had been terrified that this potential lived within him as well.

He gulped down his drink, closed his eyes; he couldn't allow those images to come to mind now. He had left the house the next morning and had never stepped inside it again. It was impossible, unthinkable. He hadn't seen his family since then either, each of them going their separate ways after the will had been clarified and processed (which had been no easy feat), and they each collected their share. Alex wasn't even sure if his mother and sister knew exactly where he had ended up and he wasn't going to do anything to remedy that. They were better off without one another, truly. His share of the inheritance had been put into a small bookshop carrying political literature: history, feminism, philosophy, environmental issues, and radical periodicals. It didn't turn much of a profit but that wasn't really the point. Imagining his father's reaction to how he had used his money either made Alex smirk or swallow back confused tears, depending on the day.

What did he want this evening? Or need? Which type of obliteration and distraction? Perhaps he should just get drunk or high, he hadn't done that in a long time.

After finding out he had tested negative he had gone crazy, he could even admit that himself; likely he still was a little bit. Most of that period was black, the memory had been torn out of his head, a film reel left flapping. There had been a lot of substances, a lot of sex; it had made no sense at all but also it was the only thing closest to making any sense in his life at that time. Then he had heard from Tobias, a voice on the phone late at night. He had not been as lucky as Alex. He had stopped answering the phone after that.

His excursions to clubs and use of unfamiliar substances and bodies felt as if he was trying to fix his car by crashing it. (Hadn't David Bowie said something about this...? Probably...) Whatever about the drugs and the idiotic chances he took, he took precautions when it came to the sex, even if his partner scoffed at him and mocked him being so overly careful. He had mostly already lost his interest in drugs but tonight could witness him becoming reacquainted with that side of night club life. He kept dancing, not at full unfettered force. A pleasant sensation of slight drunkenness crept over him, heightening his experience of the club's atmosphere. He felt someone standing over-close to him, and then a hand slipping around to rest on his hip. Continuing to move, Alex wondered who this potential partner for the evening was, how they looked, or was it a previous suitor returning for a second encounter? It wasn't unheard of. Though there had been no-one more permanent or regular in his life for the past few years, not since- well, as if that had had any future in it, idiot boy.

Warm breath skittered across the back of his neck but there was no contact made with his lips. As a matter of fact, his unseen partner was not doing anything much of what Alex usually expected and understood as passing for a courting ritual. He hadn't pressed his body against his or run his hand over his crotch, hadn't even tried to kiss him yet. His hand was still resting on his hip, his breath repeatedly hitting the back of his neck, like waves breaking on the shore. Alex paused another moment and he realised that the other man was waiting for some kind of permission or a gesture of reciprocated interest from him. Alex turned around, into the man, and found himself staring into a face he never allowed himself to think of, much less even ever imagine seeing again. _How_ was he even here? Fuck, three years without even a rumour or a second-hand piece of news or information picked up. Moritz-Martin? He still only thought of him as Moritz, he couldn't get his head around "Martin". Christ, there was his past standing right in front of him, the strangest period of his life and the strangest piece of that life.

Moritz was as he remembered him on an initial glance; the longer he gazed (and he was well aware he was gazing, mute, at him but there was really nothing within his power he could do about that), the more he could sense there were many little things that had changed in Moritz's appearance but he could not recognise exactly what they were. He still had that mild look of worry, his grey eyes wide and unwavering as they met Alex's. He'd never realised Moritz was- well, he didn't know _anything_ about him, he hadn't even known his real name, so why was he surprised that he was here now, pulling him closer? Oh Christ, what was he _doing_ , _actually_ dancing with him? It was the eighties, for fuck's sake, why was he dancing _with_ him, with _him_ , like proper couples used to? Alex looked away, stepping out of Moritz's hold on him. The music continued blaring on vulgarly. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, wanting to block it all out, how scared and small and fucking angry he had been three years ago, constantly, how lonely he had been and on fire with the need for everything. He felt fingers closing gently but firmly around his wrists, tugging them down. Alex peered up at Moritz ( _Martin_ ), waiting. Moritz mouthed something but he couldn't hear him clearly, he could only feel a vibration. He tried again.

"I'm sorry, Alex. I am so sorry." It was Moritz's turn to look everywhere that wasn't Alex's face. "Can we get out of here? Go somewhere?"

Alex realised that Moritz still held his wrists clasped in his hands. He nodded and had the sense that whatever happened from this point on would either smash his flimsy life to bits or it would somehow make sense of all the disparate lines and threads in him, drawing them together. Either way, he accepted it and a whiteness descended over him, blocking out everything that had been jammering inside him all these years. It was as if the screeching bats careening around inside him had finally hung themselves up and folded their wings, settling. He followed Moritz to the exit, reaching for his hand, and holding onto it as they moved through the noise.


	2. Chapter 2

His apartment was prison-like in its minimalism and Alex could not be sure whether the reason for this was Moritz's having only recently moved in or whether it hinted at a need or desire to flee at the first sign of danger. The walls had been freshly painted the palest shade of green; the smell of it hung in the air, over-powering, even after Moritz opened the windows. His living situation was little more than a bedsit, but for someone who had lived all their life in the DDR and had then found themselves in the army it was certainly liveable. Alex thought of the yawning hallways of his old family home, the high ceilings, sweeping grounds, the countless rooms- yet, this bedsit appealed to him more. He had taken great pleasure in Tobias' mansion, the wonderful sprawling structure, seeming so lived-in and welcoming, conducive to long talks, to debate, to action, to connection, Tobias at the centre of it, his presence almost kingly.  
Alex found himself smiling at how Moritz's bedsit resembled an army barracks in its neatness; it was far more orderly than Alex's own bed had been when they had been in the army together. Just another way Moritz had effortlessly outstripped him as an officer, his opposite once more, more like his father than he could ever be- or so he had thought at the time.

Did Moritz know about his father? Did he mourn him? He sometimes pictured the conversations and work Moritz and his father had shared, and he experienced no jealousy at these imaginings, rather a blunted sense of pity for his father touched him. This happened to him increasingly these days, his resentment of his father was tinged with distress at how bewildered and indeed, lonely he must have been within his own family. Perhaps there could have been a time, some unspecified future point when they would have learned to stop seeing each other as campaigns to be fought, or as symbols of precisely what was wrong with their respective generations. What would that have been like? He could have finally told Alex about his own father, Alex's grandfather; now, that secret had gone to the grave and would never be known. 

He sought to turn his attention back to the present moment and observed Moritz examining his own bedsit. What was he doing, had he lost something or-? Suddenly, Alex believed he understood Moritz's actions, his neatness- it was only amid such antiseptic order that he could notice if his bedsit had been interfered with, if someone had been through his things or had attempted to install some kind of device. Alex knew, through whispers, that such measures were part of daily life in the DDR but he struggled to truly understand it as something lived by average citizens, something which became part of your routine, second nature, something which you constantly took measures against. What had happened to Moritz these past three years? He wanted to ask him and he didn't- one, he somehow knew that to address that directly would immediately end whatever this evening was, and two, if they opened up that line of conversation it ended at an unpleasant place for both of them, a reminder of deception and being deceived. Not tonight. Not tonight. 

Moritz's gaze quickly flicked over the bedsit, each corner, appraising it, processing the information; he seemed to have forgotten Alex's presence. He realised then that Moritz was not too far from panic, from giving into some undefined fear. He moved closer, softly, until he was standing in front of Moritz, seeking to make eye contact with him. It took a few moments for him to turn to Alex, his gaze still not fully focused on him. 

Was this why he had sought him out, why he wanted this, something Alex could never have envisioned Moritz wanting from him? He could well comprehend how it was to need to almost crash yourself into another person, to scrabble for their touch and to have them help you forget the threat closing in on you. If that was what Moritz wanted or needed tonight Alex could give him that. 

They stood facing one another and the next moment, Moritz had pulled him against him, his mouth finding his and kissing him insistently, and Alex responded in kind, mirroring his actions, allowing Moritz to lead and he simply adapted to what he was doing. As artless as it was it was still intoxicating to have the other man on him like this. He had his palms pressed hard against the small of Alex's back, rubbing their clothed crotches together maddeningly. Alex pushed his hands under Moritz's t-shirt, moving his fingers over the hard muscle he found there; he had nearly expected it to be cold to the touch, rather than blood warm. His body was so different to Tobias', to the other men he had been with- oh, he could still remember Tobias' skin and how shockingly warm it had been, how he had touched him so uncertainly at first, worried he would do something he wasn't allowed to or supposed to, but Tobias has taken his hand and urged him to explore and Alex had quickly lost himself in palping Tobias's thighs and arse, experiencing a dizzying arousal at being held pinned beneath his lover's weight. Tobias' solidity, his broad chest and torso had simultaneously been comforting, intimidating and stimulating up to the point of being painful. He had sought, occasionally found, a taste of what he had felt under Tobias' ministrations with other lovers. However, they had always lacked something, a certain way of handling Alex's body and allowing him to let himself go completely and utterly. 

Three years on and he still did not understand- he lay awake at night still on occasion (or more often than he would ever admit) and searched for some reason or explanation for how Tobias had simply cast him aside. He told himself repeatedly during those small hours to stop, to stop indulging in such ignorant teenage foolishness. Three years later and he still replayed that one night in his mind, lying down in the memory of it, the sting of rejection still so fresh. He sometimes imagined all the firsts he could have had with Tobias instead of with nameless partners in clubs and anonymous rooms. 

Why had he slammed down the phone on Tobias, scarcely allowing him to speak a few sentences? He could not even say with any certainty if he was hoping Tobias would pursue him, would need so desperately to be with him. Was he afraid of what Tobias would say, that all his deepest fears would be confirmed, that he was just a pretty naive boy there for the taking, artless and useless, nothing to be taken seriously and certainly not worth a second night? 

Alex focused on the man in front of him, tearing his mind out of the mire of the past that had never ceased being present. He could not interpret the look he was being subjected to- there was lust, certainly, dully clouding Moritz's grey eyes but something else lay underneath, withheld. It would appear that both of them were struggling to be present in this room, with one another. 

Alex sank to his knees, undoing Moritz's jeans, nuzzling open-mouthed against his clothed erection. He inhaled deeply- smell always turned him on, he adored the smell of sweat, of cum, he loved to bury his nose into his partner's crotch, to be surrounded by their scent in such an undiluted form. Moritz, however, pulled Alex up and backed him onto his bed until they both fell onto the mattress and Alex understood then- Moritz wanted something hard, direct. and Alex felt the blood rushing to his groin at the way Moritz stripped him of his clothes. He straddled him then, pinning his hips between his thighs, watching him as he slowly grinded against him. He moved again, leaning in close to Alex as he stretched over to open a drawer of the bedside table, taking out a small tube, deftly uncapping it and coating his fingertips in a clear gel. Alex started as he felt Mortiz splaying his fingers against his entrance, clearly delighting in the sight of the other man under him, his legs fully open and pressing himself almost involuntarily back against Moritz's fingertips, desperate to feel him. Moritz's skin was so pale, his body taut and wiry, and his cock was long but slim, the tip glistening wet. Moritz had two fingers in him now and Alex failed to suppress a moan. He couldn't say why he had been so quiet up until now; he did not know what to say to Moritz or even how to be in this moment, and Moritz appeared not to know what to say either. They both wanted this but could not explain what it was, beyond the physical. He inserted a third finger and Alex couldn't resist any longer and pulled Moritz down, kissing him messily, his breathing ragged. For a split second Moritz seemed startled by this display before responding with equal abandon, and in doing so, somehow altering the mood. Moritz removed his fingers, once more reaching for the lube, and Alex had to put his hands out, to stop him. 

"Wait, please wait. You need to-" 

Moritz looked at him confused, his chest heaving rapidly. 

"I have condoms in my my jacket." 

He raised an eyebrow at this. "We don't need those." 

"We do. And I won't do it without one." 

The other man began to make a noise halfway between a laugh and a dismissal, but then he must have seen something in Alex's face which stopped him. He nodded, and sighed. "All right then." He slid off of Alex, rummaged through the clothes thrown on the floor until he found the jacket. Alex admired the line and flex of Moritz's thighs as he moved. He stood near the bed and Alex looked up at him while he rolled a condom onto his cock. He put more lube on his fingers before lowering himself onto Alex once more, encouraging his legs apart and smearing his entrance generously before positioning himself between his legs. 

"Are you ready? Are you alright?" The words fell quietly and Alex nodded, hard, not trusting his voice any more. Moritz pushed slowly into him, stopping again only for Alex to urge him, to nearly beg him to go in further, deeper. 

Moritz began to thrust into him, still attempting to control his own movements and barely managing to hold himself back. Alex gave up on holding back and gave voice to a series of meaningless noises and this seemed to drive Moritz further on and he began to lose control over himself, roughly thrusting into him, hard, skin slapping against skin, the obscene sound robbing Alex of any coherent thoughts as his orgasm built up in him, and he lifted his legs, hooking them around Moritz's hips, his hands scrabbling for purchase against his back. Moritz had his face pressed against Alex's, their breath green-house hot between them, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. Alex cried out as his orgasm over took him, whiting out the world around him, he was aware only of Moritz continuing to push into him, his movements having lost all sense of rhythm and the resulting aftershocks were just on the right side of painful. Moritz came to a stuttering halt, emptying himself into Alex, gasping and taking in huge lungfuls of air as he collapsed against Alex. Sweat-dampened hair tickled his nose and he flung his arms across Moritz's back, their legs remained entangled, cum leaking from Alex and cooling not unpleasantly on his skin. The smell in the room was close, heady. He closed his eyes, focusing only on the feel of the man sprawled on his chest, and the sound of their breathing. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Alex woke the next morning, struggling to surface, slowly becoming aware of where he was and what had passed the previous night. He looked over- during the night he and Moritz (Martin, for fuck's sake, Martin) had broken apart, and Moritz lay on the other side of the bed, his face turned towards him, one hand curled up to his chest, the other arm resting on his pillow. Alex examined his face, lines furrowing his brow even in repose, serving to emphasise the small series of indentations above his eyebrow. He had never seen someone so perfect looking and so asymmetrical. Reaching out, he barely suggested a line from Moritz's brow down over his nose; the other man shifted but did not awaken. Alex's gaze fell upon his arms and their strongly defined muscles. He adjusted his eyes to the countless criss-crossing lines on the palms of his hands. The white raised marks were visible nowhere else, only on his palms, and the underneath of his fingers. He wanted to touch them, these scars, like bird's feet creating a confused trail, but he was somehow certain if he gave into this compulsion Moritz would wake and it would shatter everything. 

Alex thought of his father, here and now of all times and places. But his father had certainly held an affection for Moritz. Well, when he had believed him to be Moritz. Had it ever caused a sadness, a regret in his father, a wish that his own son could have been a shade more like Moritz, or had there been no nuances about it and had he indeed considered Moritz more a son than Alex? He could still picture the two of them, how his father had addressed and interacted with Moritz in comparison to him. Had it contributed- his daughter gone, his son an embarrassment to him, his wife gone, and then, the soldier he had relied on being shown as an illusion, had it helped drive him closer to the edge, to feel even more alien in this world? 

The scent in the air which last night had been so intoxicating had turned sour, had gone off, smelling like rotten milk. He sat up in the bed, moving softly and silently, searching the crumpled pile of clothes beside the bed until he found his watch- he cursed inwardly when he saw the time. He had to leave now if he was to open the bookshop on time. Best not to wake Moritz, it would necessitate explanations, an awkward leave-taking. Perhaps it was for the best, he repeated to himself, to just leave, and not have to see the distance developing in Moritz's eyes, the evasions and hints at needing Alex to leave, the unspoken crushingly loud in his gestures, that the one night had been sufficient, what else did they need to do or say, what had Alex thought this was? 

He pulled his clothes on swiftly, a small part of him protesting that Moritz had wanted to talk last night, and well, they hadn't done much talking, had they? Perhaps now he would want to initiate this conversation, whatever it was, it might even clear up the story behind those scars. Alex stood up, resolutely not looking back at Moritz's slumbering frame, and slipped out of the apartment. No, just because they had once had some connection, a connection founded on deception, it did not mean that any of this meant more than it normally did. Whatever had driven Moritz to him, that need had now been sated. It wasn't necessary to prolong it, he should consider it closed, consider it closure even, he told himself as he strode along, hands stuffed unto his pockets, a light spring breeze aiding in fully waking him up and shaking off the aftertaste of that room and his encounter.

\------------------------------------------------------------

A busy day left Alex hardly any time to ruminate as he dealt with a delivery of new books, checking them, putting price stickers on them, and shelving them in the moments he had between customers or those wishing to distribute flyers or display posters for events and rallies, groups, talks. The bookshop did not generate a great amount of business in terms of financial profit; however, it had a core group of visitors who Alex had got to know well enough, and they came every other day to meet one another, to discuss the news and to plan, and argue more often than not. Alex reveled in it, encouraged them to stay, supplying them with secondhand chairs, an ancient kettle, cheap coffee and permission to sit and read books or pamphlets without necessarily having to buy them. 

It was late afternoon, and his small group of regulars were chattering animatedly while Alex put the last of the new books away. The doorbell rang, he looked over, and he experienced a moment of sheer panic on seeing Moritz enter the shop. The regulars gave him a once-over, curious as to who this newcomer was, but soon lost interest in him. A faint ache made itself felt in Alex's upper thighs, through his lower body, as if conjured into life by being confronted with the one who caused it.  
Moritz approached him, his face down-turned, his eyes a darker shade of grey than they had been last night. 

Alex was at a loss as to what to say, and only managed: "How did you know where to find me?" 

Moritz paused before replying. "Tobias told me I could find you here." 

Whatever answer he had been expecting it had not been that. Had Moritz and Tobias been talking about him? He clutched the books in his hands tightly, unable to put them back in the cardboard box but neither was he able to continue shelving them. 

"You were gone when I woke up." Moritz said in a low voice. "Why did you go like that?" 

Alex searched Moritz's face carefully; his tone was glum, disappointed- hurt? 

"I thought that was what you wanted." Alex tried to toss in a shrug. 

Moritz shook his head. "No, I didn't. I suppose I imagined it was what you wanted?" Moritz stood so still, so utterly artless and Alex experienced a wave of compassion for him. "I'm sorry. For assuming and misreading the situation. I'm just not at all sure what's going on." He nearly said "Moritz", and unable to say "Martin" convincingly he omitted the name altogether. 

"What time do you close up here at?" 

Alex checked the clock. "Less than two hours." 

"Can we meet then? Perhaps a drink somewhere, and talk a little bit? There's a few things I want to tell you about. Including Tischbier, if that's alright." 

Hearing that name spoken aloud was wildly disorienting, too intimate for this store. He nodded nonetheless. "Bis dann." 

Moritz quirked his mouth up in a quarter smile and left, and Alex watched his retreating back until he was an indistinguishable dot in the distance.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex stepped out of the book shop, and before turning to lock the door behind him he caught sight of Moritz leaning against the wall across the road. He approached him slowly, drawing out the short distance between them. The rush of last night had faded, and still having not talked it was even more difficult to begin talking now. Moritz attempted an uncertain smile which Alex responded to with a nod. He wasn't intentionally being unfriendly or aiming to further deepen Moritz' visible discomfort; rather, he could not with complete certainty say that he was happy to see him. It was necessary, yes, and he did experience a strange need to be around him again but he could not call that a reason to smile. They stood facing one another, both of them still and silent. Alex examined Moritz; the late evening sun lent a warmer golden tinged hue to his hair and pale skin, though the skin beneath his eyes remained dark, and his clothes presented an odd ensemble, someone who was not used to having a choice about what they wore on a daily basis.

"So, shall we?" Alex sought to let the question drop as casually as possible. They fell into step beside one another. Alex noticed Moritz glancing back at his little book shop, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards.

"Is something funny?"

"It's just, well, it is a bit hard to square your book shop with the Alex I knew from before."

He knew what Moritz meant, and it was true, really. Many retorts came to mind, each of them along the lines of, "You thought you knew me the same way I thought I knew you". To what purpose? To score some meaningless point? He could still remember that moment, not just remember it, he felt it like the throbbing of a bone broken and badly set, reacting to approaching bad weather. That moment, when he comprehended that what was being said to him about this Martin Rauch was the truth. His tears had partly been born of burning humiliation. It had swept through him, uncontrollably, a nausea.

"Well, I've always liked books, but I used to be impatient with them, I always wanted more immediate action. I couldn't even begin to imagine how authors could sit down and spend hours fiddling with each word, rewriting, editing. But now I see the books, the right books, certain books, as leading to the action, to the change, equipping us for it, and letting us know where to go."

He wasn't ready yet to explain to Moritz how books and reading had helped to still his mind, and gave him some sense of place in the world, something anchoring him to this life. He had been at a loss as to what to do initially after moving out of the family home. He found himself spending time at his local library, and then the university library. School had not been his forte and he did not regret his decision to not attend college. At best, his school record was erratic; it was not that he hadn't been able for the work but rather if he was not interested nothing could make him attend to the work. German and history had been his best subjects, and even then his results were mixed. His teachers would get frustrated with the promise shown in his work which he never followed up on. He would refuse to see a debate form another point of view, or he'd continue to argue his way stubbornly into a dead end, or he wouldn't make the effort to sit down and rewrite some of his passionate but sloppily dashed off essays.

For the want of anything else to say, Alex told Moritz about how he had spent his time in the library, working his way through thick books on German history, politics, anything that caught his attention. However, he did struggle to get on with fiction so he usually skipped over that section in the library.

"It must be nice to have the choice to not read a book." Moritz said. It was not intended as a dig, but was rather a statement of fact, of his experience of life.

They entered the pub, finding a relatively quiet corner apart from the other drinkers, sheltered mostly from view by a wooden partition. Alex still couldn't work out whether it was a good idea or not to talk to Moritz in a fairly public place such as this. He did not know what he was going to be told by him or how he would react to it. Perhaps being exposed in this manner meant he would be forced to keep himself in check. That look of concern was back on Moritz' face, his eyebrows drawn together, mouth tight, eyes alternating between distant and intensely focused. Alex experienced a strange sharp dart of desire going through him. Maybe they could simply forget about this idea of having a conversation, go back to someone's bedroom and sort out whatever this was in another way. Instead of giving into this, he got up and ordered drinks for them, two beers. Moritz asked for Schnapps as well, but Alex stuck with just the beer. Hard spirits weren't his drink of choice. Whiskey especially, he couldn't stomach, he could scarcely even stand the smell of it. He was not nauseated by it, but whiskey reminded him so strongly of Tobias that it was utterly disorienting, to be able to inhale this smell so bound up with him but to not have him present. To have that powerful liquid lighting up his throat hit him with memories and images as harshly bright as a shaft of morning sunlight. He would see Tobias, tumbler in hand, surveying him, challenging him. His stomach roiled at the re-experiencing of his desire for, and his nervousness of that man. Moritz' voice broke in on his reverie.

"I suppose we can't put off talking any longer."

"We did a fairly good job of it last night."

A faint smile touched Moritz' lips, and Alex's thighs became warm, imaging how Moritz was replaying bits of last night's events in his mind and smiling over them. He drank deeply from his beer.

"You said you wanted to tell me about Tobias." Moritz' smile was gone in an instant. Alex plunged ahead. "I mean, even, how did you see him, or find out about him? How are you _here?"_

"I ran away. Or I escaped. Whichever way you want to see it." Moritz' voice had sunk to the barest of whispers and Alex had to lean in to him to hear clearly, and found himself automatically adopting the same tone. Moritz ( _Martin_ ) held his hands out, unfurling his fingers, palms upturned, displaying the same scars Alex had noticed the previous night.

"I was on the train one evening about a month ago, and it went by the wall. I was supposed to be on my way home after a day in the city but instead, I got off and was heading for the wall. It was so still, all around me was empty, there was no-one to be seen, and I had this urge to get over. So I did. If I had stopped to think about it it wouldn't have worked out, I'm convinced, but I did it almost as if I had planned it without knowing I'd planned it. I went through some people's back gardens and in one of them there was a shed, left open. I found a ladder. It was dark and I got to the top but to get over the top, I had to get past the length of barbed wire." He broke off, looking down at his palms, as if he was unfamiliar with them. "I had to grab on to the barbed wire, haul myself over. Somehow I hung off the other side of the wall, gripping on even though there was blood running everywhere. I didn't feel any pain at the time. Getting over the wall wasn't the end of it, it was only the first step. There was a wide area, a no-man's land, stretching to the security towers. Well, the army training came in handy. I crawled along, moving forward on my elbows. A dog came out and I stopped dead. I don't know, maybe they're trained only to react to movement, panicked people running desperately. Maybe I just have a great way with dogs." He laughed over-loudly in jarring contrast to how he was carrying out the telling of his story. Alex reached out and placed his hands on Moritz' open palms, rubbing his thumbs gently over where hand joined wrist.

"I have no idea how long I lay there waiting until the dog disappeared. I just wanted to run, I was so close. But something told me that that would lead to certain discovery. I was right; I moved slowly again, I don't know how I held myself back but at the last moment I saw the trip wire. Again, I halted, couldn't move. Eventually I forced myself to stand up, slowly, and go forwards, and I picked my way carefully over and that was it. I was over. I don't even remember what I did then. Must've found a pay phone. Next thing I knew I was in a car with Tobias. I hardly recognized him. At first I thought it was just to do with time passing and aging but when we got back to his house and I saw him under the light he looked dreadful. He saw my hands and he backed off completely, told me I would have to clean myself up, it would be too great a risk for him to do anything and he had to explain why." Moritz sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on the ground. He felt Moritz pressing his fingertips against his palm, half-curling his fingers around his hand. "He let me stay with him while I tried to work out what I was doing, or at least, what my next step was going to be. Still don't know what I'm doing. Oh Alex, there isn't a lot of love lost between me and Tischbier but Jesus Christ-" Moritz faltered, the incessant stream of words halting, and when he resumed talking the pace was more measured; if the previous torret of words had been more for Moritz (Martin) than for Alex, born out of a need to simply give voice to a story he had been unable to tell anyone, then Moritz' struggle to put together these sentences about Tobias suggested that he was somehow constrained in what he was choosing to say by having Alex as his audience.

"He is so very ill, Alex. His strength is gone, he must be less than half the size he used to be. I don't even know how he's still alive, I'm not sure he wants to be. All his friends are dead or dying. _He_ is dying." He eyed Alex warily. "He would really like to see you, one time, before he dies."

Alex snatched his hands from Moritz', and didn't know what to do with them now they were empty; he gripped his thighs initially, digging his fingernails in, then reaching for his beer, finally grasping at his hair. Moritz continued to talk steadily, as if he knew this was his only chance to tell Alex this.

"Look, we didn't talk too much about what happened, and I'm in no way taking anyone's side here. I don't know exactly what happened. But I think it would be good for you to see him when you have the chance to instead of having to live with the regret of not having done so for the rest of your life."

Would it have made any difference if he had been able to sit down with his father one last time before he shot himself? Could they have actually talked if he had known what was going to happen? He likely would have only made everything worse for him. The world had never particularly cared about his anger and disappointment and so his father had come to stand in place of the world he was powerless to change, and at least he could hurt his father. He had some small amount of power now; Tobias wanted to see him. He could withhold his presence and hurt him that way, or he could go and hurt him with words, or merely by standing there, parading the fact of his health. Tobias was weaker now, he could finally have the upper hand. He could admit to himself that he was bad enough to be able to entertain such thoughts, yet he was not so terrible a human being as to carry them through. He remembered being so utterly alone in the hospital, not a word of sympathy or a reassuring smile, the nurses had scarcely acknowledged him. Tobias must be living this experience on a daily basis now. He would go, he would grant him this wish, as terrifying as it would be to confront the reality of Tischbier after years of dealing only with his memory. One meeting however, and after he would have only the memory of Tobias to return to.

"I'll go, I'll go see him." Alex said softly. "Could- could you come with me? I know you've just come from there but-"

_I don't want to go alone._ Oh, was he asking too much of Moritz?

The other man nodded sharply. "Of course. Whenever you want to. But, ähm, it may be a good idea to go sooner rather than later."

They sat for a moment, preoccupied with their empty glasses.

"Why did you leave?" Alex asked abruptly and on seeing Moritz' face realised he had to clarify. "Last month, to come over here? Don't you have family over there?"

Moritz twisted a beer mat between his fingers before he began to tear the square of cardboard into pieces. "I do. Fleeing like this, I've now become exactly what I swore I would never be. I vowed not to repeat the same mistakes as my parents. And yet, here we are. Perhaps it's inevitable, ending up just like our parents though you swear to yourself you won't."

Alex felt himself becoming cold at these words.

"I tried to go back, after everything that happened here, and that's something you can't do. You can never go back, never re-enter the same city twice. I spent three years attempting to re-inhabit the life I had left behind, the life waiting for me, ready-made. It could never have worked. I am not that person anymore, simple as. I didn't fit. And so I left. I imagine, in some ways, they are all relieved that I did. It makes life easier for them. Oddly, I believe it will be easier for me to come back here and stay here."

"But you've been here before. Does the same not hold for not being able to go back or to return?"

"No. I left home as Martin and I was expected to return as Martin. Here, I was two people. Now I'm here just as me, whatever that means or whoever that might be. But I haven't been here as that person before."

"You don't sound very certain."

"I'm not at all. I used to be. I'm not certain about anything these days."

"Can we get out of here?" Alex asked, attempting to control his voice. "I just, I need some fresh air."

Alex remembered running out of the dark cinema, heart pounding sickeningly in his chest, utterly overwhelmed at being presented with exactly what he wanted and being terrified of taking it. Tobias had been so massive, taking up space, quietly commanding respect and attention, with no need for the same frantic desperate attempts Alex had made to garner the same reaction. Could he bear to see Tobias now he was reduced to a cruel reminder of what he had once been? Could he stand to see how Tobias dealt with this knowledge? Or would seeing Alex allow him to briefly return to that time, to get that back? He had always wanted to be able to give Tobias things, he wanted for Tobias to take from him; if he took from him it meant he needed him, didn't it?

It was dark now as they wandered the narrow streets. Alex's breathing had evened out and he no longer feared he would break into a head-long run. Moritz walked beside him, silent and easily keeping pace with him. He wondered how much Moritz knew about what had happened between him and Tobias, and indeed what he thought of all this. Did he feel merely obliged to convey Tobias' message and wish, the whole time inwardly mocking how such a slight connection could continue to effect someone? Perhaps not. After all, Moritz had come back here three years later. Not for him specifically or exclusively, he knew that, but he had indeed come back for something, had been driven to it. He experienced a strange ache, a regret for Martin. He shouldn't have ended up like this. Alex had always expected his life would turn out this way, estranged from any ties to his past and at the same time living in that past time more than the present. Martin shouldn't be suffering this same limbo though, he wasn't made for it.

Scarcely wishing it, his fingers reached for Moritz and gripped his hand in his own, tightly. He stopped, turning to Alex, halting him as well, looking at him quizzically.

"Alex?" He sounded concerned. "I'm sorry, I should've given you more of a warning about Tobias, I didn't think-"

Alex shook his head once, mouthing the word "no". He took a step forward and in this empty alley under the cover of dark, he dared to put his arms around Moritz' neck and bury his face into his chest. Though not as tall as Tobias Moritz was still significantly taller than him and Alex for once welcomed this sensation of being so small. Moritz' arms went around him, one across his shoulders, and the other on his waist; he was covered, sheltered, with Moritz' lips pressed lightly against the top of his head, nose in his hair. They remained like this for as long as they dared to. Alex was the one who broke the embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book "Stasiland" by Anna Funder was a huge help in writing this.


	4. Chapter 4

Initially they drove in silence, allowing the scenery to slide by, unremarked upon; they had not touched on the reason for this journey since Moritz had told him of Tobias' request. The quiet seemed to disturb Moritz more than Alex, which he found odd. Moritz had never been a great talker; he had always spoken only when necessary and even then it had possessed a somewhat stilted quality. It had only recently occurred to Alex that this taciturnity and awkwardness of expression had likely been caused by the fear of betraying himself, constantly aware he could slip up by using an Ossi phrase or not knowing some reference which should have been self-explanatory. Not even his manner of speaking had been his own, it had been another illusion. Alex experienced a strange sensation in his chest, as he thought about how as he grew closer to Moritz he realised he knew less and less about him. And at moments such as now, as he sought to focus on driving while Moritz restlessly jabbed at the car radio, Alex believed that the gap between them would prove to be unbridgeable. Some bizarre momentum was carrying them along in their un- (or ill-) defined relationship to one another and he continually waited for it to crash down around them, buckling under its own weight, shattering for a second time. 

He glanced quickly over at Moritz, still skipping through radio stations, unable to settle, his brow furrowed, his eyes roving constantly, flickering. Alex stared directly ahead, and it clicked that it was his own silence which was making Moritz so twitchy. Typically he was the one whose flow of words remained unchecked, pouring out of his mouth nearly in spite of himself. Once Alex's mouth got engaged it took his mind a fair amount of time to catch up, and by then it was too late, the damage was done. It had happened on countless occasions with his father. Would it have made a difference then if he had tried to apologise, to take back the words spoken in such haste? Likely no. His father would not have heard him and back then, there was no way Alex would ever take back anything he said, viewing it as a sign of weakness. This level of quietness must seem completely out of character to Moritz. How can Moritz even make judgements like that, as to what is or isn't in character? Alex thought as he stamped down too abruptly on the brake. The car jolted and Moritz whipped his head towards him. Alex got the car under control again. These repeated reproaches against Moritz were unfair, he could not allow himself to continue harbouring them. And yet, they sat at the back of his throat, ready to thickly uncurl. He gripped the steering wheel. 

"I'm sorry. For not being a great conversationalist just now. It's...strange."

Moritz nodded. "That's alright. You mean with Tischbier?" 

"I mean with everything." He huffed out a small snort.

"Fair enough." Moritz half-smiled. 

"Is it not even stranger for you?" Alex ventured.

"How so?"

"Being back here again? The difference between..." He trailed off.

"Between which, between the DDR and here, or between three years ago and now?" There was no sarcasm in Moritz's voice. (Alex wondered briefly if he was capable of it). It was a simply put question. "It is strange constantly. Easier though in some ways, knowing that I can slip up and say Schrippen and I won't get deported for it. Or killed. I don't have to force friendships and alliances with people I don't want to. I can take my time at least now to get used to the strangeness. Before I wasn't able to share that with anyone, how strange it all was." 

He wanted to ask Moritz about how it was knowing he couldn't return home ever, that the DDR was now closed to him. He restrained himself and restricted the question to: "Why come here though? To the BRD? If you're going to leave the DDR why not leave Germany altogether?"

"Is that what you would have done? Gone to, I don't know, Cuba or Albania, where they really know how to do Communism?" Moritz shook his head. "Outside of Germany is not for me. I know that much. Even on a practical level, I can barely get by in English or Russian. Anyway, what would I do anywhere else? I don't even know what to do here."

"None of us know what to do." Alex replied. 

"But I need to be doing something. Perhaps living in the West is getting to me more than I thought it would. I used to always be doing something; I worked, I was in the army, every hour was regulated and served some kind of purpose. And now," He swept his right hand in front of him. "Now, it is just endless. The time. I don't know." He sighed, his eyes sliding away from Alex's glances at him, snatched, as he drove. 

"But," Moritz started again. "What about you? Why didn't you leave? Go to America, I'm sure that would've suited you, great new start." 

You what...?" He turned indignant to meet Moritz's openly grinning face. "Ach, was..." He allowed himself a small smile, pleased to see Moritz in a more light-hearted moment. The other questions and issues weren't going to go away, they would only become more pressing as the time went on. What was Moritz going to do? (Martin, he meant Martin). Could he find any work in the West, and indeed, was he qualified for anything outside of the army? And outside of espionage. Hearing how adrift Moritz felt himself to be further strengthened Alex's conviction that the only reason behind their unexpected coupling was due to the other man's utter confusion and delayed shock of some kind at his escape from the East. What else could explain these strange encounters and waves of desire between them, swelling and breaking, leaving everything quiet once again, and not to be mentioned. Moritz needed him, a sort of anchor to cling on to; the irony of being something for someone to centre themselves with was not lost on him. He needed Moritz too. He could not envision being capable of this visit to Tobias without Moritz sitting beside him. 

Three years and this is what it comes down to, driving up in his dingy secondhand car, wearing worn out clothes, feeling smaller then he ever had in front of that sprawling mansion. They approached the front door and Alex remembered that what he loved about this house the most was Tobias' careless attitude toward it. He never seemed in awe, or grateful, he sat drinking whiskey, as if the house was the minimum owed to him.  
They entered the house, Moritz calling out Tobias' second name. Even after a month of living together they had not been able to move past that? They most likely continued to Siezen one another as well, Alex thought. Hearing Moritz calling out his name was the greatest indication that things were not as they once were. Tobias should have been lounging against the door jamb, still, eyeing them as they approached. They moved through the house, the absence of any noise not even allowing this much of a distraction. Alex had a brief moment of wondering how awkward it was going to be to have the three of them there together. The thought shriveled into nothing when he opened the heavy door in front of him and he saw Tobias. He did not stand to greet them, it was likely too much effort. Thick jumpers were layered on him and in spite of this his vastly reduced frame was noticeable, his thighs disappearing in the folds of his trousers, his shoulders narrow under the weight of the material he wore. On his once massive frame this lack of fat or flesh covering it was cruelly apparent, almost cartoon-like in its over-exaggeration. Alex's first instinct was to fling his arms around Tobias but the figure he cut forbid it. His second instinct was to weep, out of shock, anger, the ever present sense of injustice. He could give in to neither of these impulses and he sat down clumsily in to the nearest seat. He was half-aware of Moritz making a move towards him and then retreating swiftly, closing the door behind him with as little noise as possible. 

Tobias looked towards the shut door. "This is the one aspect of being sick that irritates me. Why do people have to be do damn quiet around me? I'm not dead yet." He attempted a smirk and Alex was transported back to meetings planning to save Germany from itself, that same lightly smirking face regarding him as he made an impassioned speech for more action, now, a greater gesture. He had always wanted to rise to the challenge of that expression on Tobias' face, almost defiantly throwing out sentences he hoped would get a reaction.

"So. Here we are. Again." Looking at Tobias he could have been in his seventies; his hair had become so thin and his skin was marked all over by lesions he wished were simple liver spots. They simply sat for some long moments, Alex not knowing how to begin to say anything and Tobias either unable or unwilling to help him in this. Eventually Alex cleared his throat, seeking to maintain normal eye contact with Tobias. 

"Moritz told me you wanted me to come here." The older man nodded in confirmation. Alex rubbed his palms against one another. "Do you need anything? Can we get anything for you or-"

"You took my advice and got tested, yes?"

"Yes, I did. I'm clear." 

"Good. And if you're not already, use protection, always." Alex realised that a man in Tobias' position did not have great reserves of time or energy to draw upon so neither could be wasted on the luxury of either of them feeling awkward. 

"I do."

"Good. Especially if you're sleeping with him." Tobias nodded towards the door. 

"I..." Alex could only stare back at him. 

"He was a spy, Alex. Could still be. He'll have slept with everyone and anyone. I know, from my own experience." He regarded Alex evenly.

"Are you saying that you and him-"

"Christ, no. But it is what I did with you." He said flatly. 

The world around him faded out at the edges, wobbling, and he was unsteady in spite of being in a sitting position. Nights beyond number, sleepless, all for something that had never been real. All that time wasted on Tobias, gone irrevocably. 

"It is simply one of the easiest ways of getting information, of getting leverage too. Your family connection to the army marked you out as useful by my superiors." 

Tobias and Moritz were the same. He wasn't even surprised at this, it was just another sickening blow upon a bruise. 

"I don't regret anything I have done. I did like you, I still do. But I can't deny what it really was. I am sorry you got hurt. You didn't know what you were involved in. But Alex, do be careful of that one you're with."

"You don't trust him? And yet you let him stay here and help you?" 

"Of course I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone. Ask 'Moritz' about Linda, and then you'll know more about what he is capable of. And look around Alex, it is not as if I have much choice in my care or companions these days. They have all gone to meet the fate that soon awaits me, or in the case of my former superiors, they have severed all contact and pretend that they never knew me, pretend I did not give up my life for this." It was the only moment a note of self-pity entered into his words. Now he just appeared utterly weary, scarcely able to keep his eyes focused on Alex. 

Alex found himself picturing how much worse this house was with only Tobias in it, only the names of friends and lovers, now dead, to fill the quiet rooms. 

"Tobias, would you like me to stay for a while?" 

"Right now, no, you can go off, it's alright..."

"No, I meant rather would you like me to stay in this house for a while longer, a longer visit?" 

"I would actually." His head fell back against the arm chair. There was a long pause and Alex thought he had fallen sleep but then he began to speak once more. 

"I wonder to myself do I want to live long enough to see where this country is going to end up or should I count myself lucky that I won't see the chaos?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? This divided country is unsustainable. It is waiting around to die as much as I am. Alex, I do hope you are not holding back on any comments out of some misplaced respect of my illness. Hearing you mouthing off right now would be the greatest medicine. I can't imagine that in three short years you have become completely uninterested in politics, in what is going on outside of Germany and is already affecting us."

"Do you really think," He managed to say. "that this is the end of Communism in East Germany?" 

"Not yet. But the signs are there for anyone who wants to see them." Tobias' eyes had closed and his voice was becoming fainter until all that could be heard was his breathing. Alex stood up, stalking back and forth across the floorboards, thoughts overlapping, rushing in, cancelling one another out, slipping out of his grasp before he could properly understand them. He sought to push all that away, gathered himself and ran out of the room, out of the house, scarcely registering Moritz calling after him. He experienced a strange slippage of time, having run from Tobias before, utterly over-whelmed, needing open space around him, choking and shivering from the tumult in himself. He bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees, and this had also been where he had stood, regarding Tobias' house, waiting for him to see him. He had always wanted Tobias to just see him and it turned out he never had, or he had but it was with the clinical eye of a seasoned professional rather than that of a lover. He remembered that kiss still, the mixture of comfort and arousal it gave him, and how he had foolishly believed Tobias had felt the same. Tobias had instead been a mere mirror, projecting back the desires Alex was powerless against, and like a mirror reflection he could never break through and touch it.

Nausea rose in him, steeply, but he did not vomit, the queasy feeling stayed in the pit of his stomach. He heard light movement through the grass behind him and he refused to turn around as he knew it could only be Moritz and he could not bear to look at him right now, or to be looked upon. (Who was Linda? What had Tobias meant?) He felt Moritz's fingers closing around his elbow and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in Moritz's arms but this need was followed by the thought of what Tobias had said. Moritz was the same as Tobias, using him for whatever purpose it was, personal or something more sinister. He was dimly aware of how paranoid his thoughts had become, even darkly wondering if Tobias and Moritz were in on something together, against him, always against him. 

He tore himself out of Moritz's grip, and when Moritz merely followed him and sought to pull him back towards him he roughly pushed him away. Moritz stumbled and looked at Alex, his eyes wide, not with anger, but with something akin to apprehension. Alex did not know what to say or how to even communicate what he might possibly want ot say. 

"We're staying here. At least, I am. You can stay or go if you want to. But Tobias shouldn't be alone. Not like this." 

"Of course I'll stay, however long is needed. I'm sorry Alex."

"Do you have something to be sorry for?" 

"I just mean, I am sorry about Tischbier. You...you were very close to him, weren't you?"

"No. I wasn't. I never was. I only believed so. Like I thought I knew you."

Moritz looked away. "Alex, I am sorry for that."

"I find it hard to believe you."

"Don't worry, everyone I know does. No one trusts me, not even my own family." He seemed on the verge of saying something else but decided not to instead. "I know that sorry means nothing at the moment. I have no idea of what's going on here, in Germany, with my life, and least of all, what is happening between you and me, or where it is taking us. But I can only ask that you give me a fair chance to show you that you can trust me. I don't blame you for not trusting me, or anyone. It's this country, it does something to the shape of our lives, of ourselves. Please Alex. Please."

Alex wanted to respond properly to Moritz's speech, the energy and intensity behind it. It deserved an answer equal to it, more than just a confirmation or an acceptance but some kind of gesture, some way of letting Moritz know he would give him that fair chance. Maybe he was a fool for doing so and yet, Moritz's words had touched him and raised a small piece of hope in him. He wanted to give Moritz something in return. 

"What name would you like me to use? With you?" He asked. 

Moritz looked at Alex, surprise visible in his eyes, as well as gratitude. "Martin. Please call me Martin. I don't ever want to hear that other name again. It is not my name." 

Alex nodded. "Martin it is then." 

They continued to stand, facing one another. "It'll take some getting used to I suppose." Martin said. 

Alex attempted a smile. "You can get used to anything."


	5. Chapter 5

Every morning and every night Alex would think of Tobias, purposefully calling up each remembered moment and sensation, and was filled with the uncomfortable knowledge that it didn't hurt as it once should have. Or even that it did not hurt as much as he wished it to. Alex perceived that to no longer experience such pain over thoughts of Tobias implied something that he was not quite ready to accept; that his connection to the other man was fading, much as ivy hacked off at the roots continues to cling to a tree trunk even as it shrivels, browns, and expires.  
He still did not know quite how to understand this shift in his feelings and Martin's uncertainty around him acted as an externalisation of this. That first night staying at Tobias' mansion, Alex had been sitting on the floor in one of the many bedrooms available, his back up against the bed, contemplating everything and nothing at once, when there had been a knock at the door. Swinging the door back had revealed Martin's slightly hunched form, shoulders rounded as if he expected to have to beat a hasty retreat, his grey eyes wide. 

"Mensch, Martin, what do you think I'm going to do to you?"

He made some sort of vague sound and Alex understood in a second that Martin had been expecting some sort of rampage, emotional or political, from him, and was simply waiting for it to hit. Jesus, Alex cursed to himself, and looked at Martin. "Did I really used to be that bad?"

"What? No...well..."

"Christ. Let's forget about that. Are you coming in or...?"

"I didn't know if you wanted company tonight or not. Sorry..." He made as if to leave immediately again and Alex reached out his hand, circling Martin's wrist, preventing him from leaving. 

"Do you ever stand still? Even for a minute?"

"It's been a long time since I could stand still." He allowed Alex to gently pull him into the room, shutting the door behind them. "I thought you wouldn't be alright with doing this, with Tobias being here..." 

"Martin...we're not going to have sex. Not tonight, anyway." 

"Oh, but you said you wanted me to keep you company, and I thought you meant..." 

"No, I meant I actually wanted you to keep me company, sleep here in the same bed as me, sure, but no, nothing more tonight." He added quickly: "It's not that I don't want to, I'm just tired tonight. I hope you're not taking this the wrong way?" 

"No, no, I just..." Martin appeared to be completely thrown by this, shifting from foot to foot. "I...you're sure?" 

Tobias' words came back to him, about sleeping with someone being the best way to gain leverage and to discover information. However it didn't ring true to Alex that Martin simply wanted to fuck and nothing more. He was standing there, ungainly, clearly uncomfortable- had he expected Alex to want sex? Was it the only thing he thought he wanted? He was about to ask Martin this straight out but restrained himself; give it a moment, he thought. Instead he told Martin he was going to get ready for bed. Only when they were lying side by side did he turn to him, and quietly asked: "Did you think you had to have sex with me?" 

"I suppose so. It's what people want, isn't it? What people do...It was so hard to be with someone, back then, there was no time to build up any semblance of intimacy, even if it was all based on a lie anyway. How could I have that if my partner didn't even know who I really was? But I couldn't just do without some form of contact so I got used to short encounters and dalliances. I needed something. And somewhere along the line I forgot that it hadn't always been like that, that I hadn't always been like that, and it became my default. I never stopped to think about it." He paused, pressing his lips together until they whitened. "I don't know how this is going to sound, but I don't have much to offer anyone and I didn't know how to apologise to you for what I'd done and I mean, I didn't go to see you with the conscious intention of it, I just ended up wanting to give you something and that's all I have..." 

Pure rage flooded into Alex for a moment, and was instantly gone again. No, this was not the same as Tobias. This was something else, a misguided gesture, and not at all a cold and calculating strategy. 

"Martin, I need to ask then; did you want to sleep with me that night or did you imagine you had to?" 

"No, no, I did, I wanted to, but the way I went about it was completely wrong, I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry." Please stop being sorry all the time, he wanted to add but didn't. "It's fine, everything's fine. Look, now I know, alright? So, don't beat yourself up about it." He gave Martin a quick smile. He really did want the other man to forget about it. There would be other times. The thought arose so naturally that Alex was almost startled at it; he was quite certain, even without saying it to Martin, that there would be other times, that they both wanted this, whatever it might mean.

"Alex? I know you don't want to do anything tonight but would it be alright if I kissed you? I'd very much like to." 

In response, Alex leaned over and Martin's mouth met his, seeking a gap between his lips, kissing him strongly, long, and drawn-out. Alex broke the embrace first, letting his fingertips move over Martin's lips before slipping off his jaw, and they lay down to sleep, side by side, but the backs of their hands brushing against one another. 

 

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They both woke early, a hangover from the army they were unable to shake, and began to shape and form a structure for their time with Tobias. Over the coming weeks a loose routine emerged. Upon waking, Alex would send Martin down to the kitchen to organise breakfast while he went to check on Tobias after the night. Tobias had insisted on having his bed moved into his study, a task Alex was happy to indulge him in, as it gave Martin something to focus on and occupy his time (and his hands) with, moving the bed in, setting it up to be the best makeshift sick room they could muster. Each morning, when Alex opened the door to the study, he expected that it would be the one on which he would find Tobias cold and no longer breathing. He did not experience any sense of guilt or unease at these thoughts, he accepted them. He was not actively wishing death on Tobias, he wondered only when it would happen. Unfortunately, it was a more than natural thought for his mind to run on. Tobias had been diagnosed with AIDS over three years ago, and that was the maximum amount of time someone was expected to survive. There continued to be no hope in sight for the disease. 

After ascertaining that Tobias was indeed still alive, he would help ready him for the day, assisting him to the bathroom, or with a pan on days he couldn't make it (and those days were increasing), and would then help wash him before dressing him and bringing him back to his bed. Tobias found these ministration appalling, and remained sullen and uncommunicative throughout Alex's attentions. Alex certainly did not enjoy the morning ritual, yet he welcomed it and attended carefully to the dying man. Mostly his mind ran on his father as he ran a damp cloth over Tobias' fragile limbs, taking care not to press too hard or irritate the skin. He would never have to perform such tasks for his father and perhaps, in a way, undertaking this caregiving for Tobias would make up for what he would never be able to give his father, or share with him. He had been so hesitant at first, uncertain about being equal to such a task, assisting someone in the activities most intimate to ther personal dignity. He had quickly adapted to it, overcoming any qualms or distaste. Rather, selfishly, this new relationship to Tobias' body helped to further drive away any lingering romanticism about his brief time with the older man; he now had daily exposure to his body as a failing organisim and nothing more. 

After this Alex would switch on the television for Tobias, and would go shower and eat his own breakfast while Martin brought Tobias his, a meal which was little more than a symbolic gesture, something to timetable into the day and break it up. Mostly Tobias could barely do more than pick at it. Alex would pick up the day's newspapers and leave them with Tobias; his need to be kept up to date with world events and politics was insatiable; it was all that was left to him really. In the evenings he would sit with Tobias and listen to him discourse on the future of Germany. Now, instead of feeling the need to show off to Tobias he could attend to what the other man was saying and properly appreciate his political and historical knowledge and understanding. 

Alex sought to ensure that Martin had enough to keep himself occupied with, ever conscious of how lost he was without some form of work. He had no compunction about telling him to go out and sort out the garden (hopelessly overgrown, neglected by Tobias for years), or to suggest he should fix some stick of furniture or something else around the house. There wasn't a great deal of sense in doing all these home improvements for a dying man; they were rather for Martin's benefit.  
Alex had called up one of his regulars at the bookshop, had instructed her as to where the spare key was hidden and asked her to take over the shop for the time being. He trusted her and she happily accepted. 

They did not have much reason to leave the house, except to purchase food, or to collect Tobias' prescriptions from the hospital. Alex would go to the hospital at other times however, and to the university library, ordering in articles and pamphlets at the local bookshop, attempting to inform himself thoroughly on the illness killing Tobias. and too, too many others. In the afternoons he would sit at the kitchen table, working through dense medical texts, making copious notes; Martin would join him, making them both coffee, and listening to Alex tell him about what he had read today, and would let him rant, exasperation in his voice at the difficulty in getting a hold of any information, at how one article contradicted another, and how there was no consistency in statistics and that the manner of reporting was wildly prejudiced and what the fuck kind of game was the United States playing at? He didn't talk to Tobias about his endeavours. He knew, certainly, as the piles of papers and textbooks were hard to miss, but he did not mention it and so neither did Alex. 

Tobias slept a lot, and was often out for the night before the sun had even fully set. And so they continued, continued acting as if they had a purpose and things to do, when all they were truly doing was waiting; waiting for the inevitable to come to pass.


	6. Chapter 6

Tobias' condition declined further every day, and every day Alex expected it to be the last day; so when that day eventually came he had been expecting it for such a long time it was shock when he entered Tobias' room and found he had passed away during the night.  
He remained standing at Tobias' bedside, his arms growing heavy as they continued to hold the breakfast tray whose contents had been redundant even before the man had died. He finally placed the tray carefully on a nearby desk, and then he stopped again. It was so very different to how he had found hi father; he had heard the shot before entering the room, blood was pouring across the floor, gore and matter covered the area behind him. His body had been still warm to the touch for Alex has desperately wanted to grasp his father's hands in his own, his lips attempting to form words which might have been "I'm sorry" or "I love you", or even "No" and "Papa". 

This was quiet, but nonetheless violent; the campaign has been long and slow certainly, yet there could be nothing more violent than to witness a person being destroyed physically day by day. He wasn't glad that Tobias was dead, and he didn't believe death has been a kind release for the once formidable man. It had been degrading and humiliating. Perhaps Tobias had experienced a brief moment of being happy at the knowledge that he would very soon would be free of the spectacle his body had become, and the bare life his existence had been reduced to. 

Dirt, he found himself thinking, was simply something out of place; so was it dirty of him to remember the first kiss he had shared with Tischbier, to remember how the touch of their tongues had felt like freedom and adulthood beckoning to him? There was no relation between that man and what lay in the bed before him. 

Alex hadn't noticed time passing as he stood in contemplation of Tobias' body, waxy and grey, appearing so old, so off, that it was apparent nothing inhabited it any longer. Alex turned his head slowly at the sound of his name being called; he had not heard Martin's approach and now he stood framed by the doorway, looking to Alex for confirmation of what he could already plainly see in front of him. Alex nodded. 

"He's dead." His words seemd over-loud in the darkened room, midday approaching outside, clashing with the still shut thick curtains. 

"What do we do now?" Martin's gaze sought Alex's again, and he realised that though Martin may have faced death in more violent forms he had never had to deal with the practicalities of it. 

"We'll call the hospital. But before that, I'm going to clean him up, attend to him." 

"Won't...isn't someone else meant to do that?" 

"Yes, but they won't want to in this case, Martin." Alex had been on the receiving end of how even a potential AIDS sufferer was treated, and he could well imagine how even these professionals would recoil from touching the body of one who had succumbed to the disease they so feared. 

"Do you want me to help you?" 

Alex considered for a moment before shaking his head. Martin looked away, looked down before quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Alex turned to tend Tobias one final time. 

 

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Alex did not know what to do now that the determiner of his daily routine was gone. As he had watched Tobias' body being handled so cautiously and tentatively by the so-called professionals, his mind had turned to how unnatural his father had been in appearance when Alex had had to identify the body officially. He couldn't get a hold of his sister and his mother had refused to do the task so it had been Alex who had stood in front of a strangely shaped, too-flat version of his father's visage, and had said that yes, that was his father, even though he did not believe the words as he said them. 

There was so little to do. Tobias had left no will, which had not surprised Alex. His body would be cremated and there would be no ceremony. There was no-one to inform, or rather he didn't know who to inform, if there really was anyone at all. He had gone to fetch the newspapers, and only on the drive back to the house had he remembered that the main reason for purchasing the paper was now gone. 

Martin had been quiet since this morning, and Alex wasn't sure whether he just didn't know what to say or was remaining so silent out of respect, or in order not to intrude upon him. He didn't quite know himself what he wanted from Martin in this moment, and he remained equally as quiet, going about some practical tasks on his own. He stripped Tobias' bed and washed the bedclothes, he pulled back the curtains and aired the room out, scrubbed the bathroom, emptied the waste paper baskets. He gave the papers and wardrobe contents a cursory look-over, leaving this larger task to be dealt with tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps.  
There were very few papers on Tobias' desk and in his drawers; a life lived like his, he couldn't afford to leave too much behind on paper. He allowed himself a brief moment to wonder about who the real Tobias Tischbier had been and then he banished the though from his mind. It would not do him any good. 

Alex retreated to bed, unable to sleep but not able to focus on anything and with no idea of what else he could do. The house was quieter than ever. He wondered if Martin would come and share his bed tonight. He had quickly grown used to falling asleep beside the other man. His mind drifted, imagining how his father would have reacted to the information about him and Martin. Before it would have almost been something he would have done in order to hurt his father. Sleep with his father's favourite, to snatch that from him. Before, before his father had learned the truth about Martin, before Alex had had to see his father's despair in a dark red stain on the floor. 

There was a knock at the door and this action amused Alex somewhat. 

"Martin, you don't need to knock. There's only you and me here in the house."

"I was worried I might be intruding..."

"Intruding on what?" Alex huffed out through his nose. He pulled the blanket back from the bed. Martin glanced at him uncertainly and instead seated himself on the edge of the bed. Alex waited, mildly confused by Martin's behaviour. The other man took a deep breath. 

"I'm sorry about Tobias." He could hardly look at Alex. 

"Martin, thank you, but you don't need to feel compelled to give me your condolences. I'm not grieving." As soon as he said it he realised that it was true, and that this was why he had felt so strange all day long; it was not the sudden collapse of routine, the absence of Tobias, it was rather the absence of grief for Tobias which had left him so hollow. It would be easier to grieve. 

"I've already done my grieving for Tobias. I don't mean that I had time to say goodbye to him while we were here. I mean that I grieved Tobias as soon as my illusions about him, about me and him, were smashed. It's...more that I've spent most of today thinking about my father. Does that make sense?"

Martin nodded, yet continued to appear very uncertain, as if he was on the verge of bolting from the room. Alex sat up, and forward, trying to draw closer to Martin, who remained perched on the edge of the bed. 

"Looking after Tobias these past weeks, maybe some people would see it as a good act. I just saw it as necessary. But another part of me saw it as getting even. I think Tobias understood that and he tolerated. And we are now. We're even."

Martin seemed to be struggling with himself, his eyes restless, moving everywhere except Alex's face. Had Martin believed Alex still had feelings for Tobias? Likely. Alex didn't know what to say or even how to approach this. He and Martin hadn't talked about anything like this, they'd used the unspoken excuse of Tobias' dying so as to not have to address this subject. For to bring up something like this would be to admit that there was something between them and that perhaps, at some point, they would need to define it, for better or for worse. Before he could manage to at least formulate the words amounting to a clarification that no, he didn't have feelings for Tobias but at the same time he didn't know what his feelings about anything or anyone were at the moment, Martin began to speak again. 

"It was a good thing you did, it was, it was important, you could take care of him and say goodbye to him properly, grant his body those final acts of respect we should all have..." Martin stumbled to a halt, and dismayed, Alex realised that tears were falling freely down the other man's face. Alex reached for him, speaking his name softly, but Martin resisted, taking deep shuddering breaths, attempting to regain control of himself and impart a jumbled story to Alex. He couldn't understand the half of it, except that it somehow involved Tischbier, a woman called Linda, and digging a grave in a place even Martin wouldn't be able to find again. Martin's distress made Alex tear up in sympathy for him, and he attempted again to reach for Martin, and this time he allowed Alex to place his palm on his cheek, stroking gently with his thumb, his tears wetting Alex's fingers. 

Tischbier's words came back to him; "Ask him about Linda". Alex had been fully aware at the time that this information was imparted to sew discord, it had not been done out of any protective feeling on Tobias' part, he had wanted to see if he could break up the tentative connection between him and Martin. Well, Alex knew he had finally grown equal to Tischbier's games and manoeuvres. What mattered to him now was to not mess up this moment with Martin. Something inside him was convinced that if he handled this wrong it would be the last time he would see Martin. He didn't mean that Martin would be physically gone from him, but rather that Martin Rauch, the person inside, would be subsumed by some variation of the cover he had been living under three years previously. He didn't believe Martin was consciously doing this, but their silence around the subject of their undefined and somewhat unusual relationship, the uncertainty surrounding it, must have affected him as well, and resulted in this, an appeal to Alex: Please accept me. 

Alex knew all about how it was to send that plea to others, whether it had been to his father, to the activist groups he joined, or to Tobias. It had been the same, his wish for acceptance had been rejected, his worth to be loved. Part of him still believed that, still experienced with surprisingly blunt force the conviction that he was unlovable; another part of him knew, objectively, that this was not true, that with Tobias it had never been about love and that he was the wrong person to go searching for love from, and that he and his father had been simply unable to communicate and this inability had left them frustrated, led them to lash out at one another, wanting to deny how he could be so hurt by the father he proclaimed to despise. Part of him knew that, but it was at war with the other old wounds and scars. So, he moved his finger slowly against Martin's cheek, coaxing him to meet his gaze. 

"One day, if you like, we can try find that place. We can try narrow it down as best we can and then make some sort of sign or memorial for Linda there." One without her name on it, Alex thought to himself, one which wouldn't lead back to Martin. 

Martin looked at him for several long moments, and Alex feared that he had said something wrong. Eventually Martin nodded slightly. 

"We could go there. But I won't be able to leave anything there, just yet. Maybe one day, when this is all over, but not now."

Alex knew without having to ask what "all this" was. East and West. The Wall. The divisions that had bizarrely brought them together. 

"Martin, tell me about her? If you want." Alex removed his hand from the other's man's cheek, and this time, meting no resistance, tugged him down beside him. He pulled the blanket around them both, and Martin spoke of an elegant woman, slightly older than him, a little bit vulnerable, utterly open and loyal, but possessing a steely character underneath. Alex found himself liking this Linda as he listened to the story. He liked her but he winced on her behalf, recognising himself in this woman who could scarcely believe that the object of her affection returned any kind of an interest. The tale was told haltingly and rather plainly by Martin. Words were still not his strong point. Was it that he was so unused to speaking freely that he had forgotten what it was like to simply talk without fear, without checking himself, without having to act the role of someone else? Or was it that it was still difficult for him to access these experiences, that they had been so fiercely stamped down within himself that the words only came stickily? Lying in the bed, with Martin's still damp face beside his Alex suddenly experienced a stark wave of compassion for the other man. His fingers entwined with Martin's as he spoke about how Linda had been so deceived by him, and now she had paid the ultimate price for getting caught up in this deception. Tobias' role in all this did not surprise Alex, anything in relation to Tobias had ceased to surprise him. Initially Martin had simply accepted Alex's hand in his but now, nearing the end of his jerkily narrated tale his grip was fiercely strong, as if he could hardly believe Alex hadn't already turned away from him and so now he had to ascertain if it was for real and then to hold on for fear of it disappearing. 

Martin fell silent and after a few moments Alex said: "Now Tobias can't do anything anymore."

"How so?" 

"You've told me about this, which was something only you and him knew about, and now I know too." He would never tell Martin about how Tobias had attempted to use this information against them. "I lost my illusions about him, so I can stop pining over something that never was. He's dead. He's in the past." His voice had risen, growing excited. "I've got even with him. It only took over three years". He had to laugh at this. 

"Three years is not actually that long a period of time". 

"It doesn't feel like it, yet the massive gap between then and now, it seems like another life. It WAS another life". 

"What are we going to do now?" Martin asked.

Alex shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know exactly. We can't stay here much longer. Go back home, first of all, get back to work. Beyond that, I'll have to see. Are you going to come back or?"

Martin nodded. "I'm not sure what else I could do." Martin's eyes were somewhat unfocused, and Alex knew he must be thinking of the child and family he had left behind. He had no idea how to even begin to address this subject and so he said nothing and hoped Martin would understand. 

"I have to start looking for a job of some description." He sighed. Alex pondered how easy it would be for Martin to find work, if there would be issues with his identity and his status here in West Germany. 

"Well, until you find something you can help me out at the book shop. Only if you want to." Alex hoped Martin wouldn't take this the wrong way- it wasn't an offer made out of pity, or meant to be patronising, he did need help at the shop, and perhaps it would be an easier transition for him to work in a small friendly atmosphere, with someone he...well, at least, with someone he was at last, finally, getting to know. 

Martin offered him a small, but a real smile. "OK. I will." 

"Really?" 

Suddenly, Martin was moving on top of him, his thighs straddling Alex's hips. Alex sighed deeply; yes, without knowing it, this had been exactly what he needed, not simply the act of intercourse, but this closeness, that was not based solely in physical desire. 

"Will this be our last night here?" Martin asked him, his voice low. Alex nodded, tired of talking. "How about we give this empty house a good send off?" Martin splayed his fingers along Alex's hips, grasping at his flesh, his thighs gripping him. Alex pulled Martin down to him, kissing him, and thinking how at least amidst all the carnage and confusion of the past few years of his life, something now finally made sense.


End file.
